


Up in Smoke

by Tipsyrainbow



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Cinderella AU, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-20 14:16:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8252128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tipsyrainbow/pseuds/Tipsyrainbow
Summary: "Forgive me, Sire, for I must part this night." Legolas spoke softly, alluringly, with hooded eyes. Thranduil's body moved against his will, his hand resting upon his son's cheek in an instant - a scorching touch. Rubbing his thumb in circles on the warmed skin, he gazed into Legolas' deep sapphire eyes from behind the exquisite mask truly for the first time. His son stood on his toes, tipping his head up until their noses were nearly touching.





	1. First Night

      Sweeping his pale hair to the side, Legolas pinched a few strands to form a third complex braid. With lips pressed into a firm line, he made his resolve. Nimble fingers swiped the carefully made mask from the vanity top. Fastening the golden leaf-trimmed disguise with a delicate ribbon, Legolas stood straight to stare down his image in the mirror. His braided hair brushed aside as he stared back from behind the mask. Dressed in the unusual elegance of a deep emerald robe embroidered with gold, yet certainly not as lavishing as his father was sure to dress. His father had always had a taste for grandeur, even in daily attire. His _father_. Legolas groaned inwardly at the mere image of being caught. The allure of attending the ball was just too much to bear, however. He craved the dance and attention. Many of the older elves lit up when they spoke of the occasion, the biggest festival in the year. 

    Every transitioning autumn, a celebration was held under the starlight for three nights. Donned in fine silks, nobles and commoners alike join as one in the great halls of the woodland realm to dance, sing, and couple to their extent. It was customary to wear a mask of flowers and leaves as a masquerade. The event, grand so, did not allow for the younger of the elves to partake. It would be another few years until he was permitted to join, but the young elf was never known for patience. 

    "Just one more - perfect." Legolas finished clipping the Mithril woven leaf clasps into his hair. He'd simply stray from the throne where his father would be seated, and blend with the crowd in the center. Elves would trade partners amongst themselves through the night, the likelihood of being caught was hardly a thing to worry about.

    Stretching himself in front of the tall mirror in his bedchamber, Legolas twirled from side to side allowing his robes to flow about beneath him. He looked exquisite - more importantly, he did not appear as the woodland prince typically did. He hoped that his hair tied into simpler braids and in a different pattern would throw any suspicions. Running an uneasy hand over his golden tresses once more, he breathed a heavy sigh. Mustering the last of his courage, Legolas threw a final glance to the open window. Orange and yellow hues of dawn's final light shone brilliantly over Mirkwood’s cherry colored treetops.

    Steeling himself for the coming night with a single breath, Legolas slipped stealthily past his own doors like a thief in the night. 

*~*~*

    "The preparations are complete, my Lord." An advisor bowed his head to the Elvenking nervously. Thranduil nodded simply, gazing upon the expanse of his kingdom. Seated upon his throne of living twisted bark and branches, he hummed in approval of the grandeur before him. The wide room was draped and decorated in silver and gold silks and the wine stores had been filled for this occasion. The room was lit sparingly in orange soft glowing light, it would be lit comfortably enough by the light of the stars underneath twisted treetops with arms that reached toward the sky. Although night was just approaching, nobles began to scatter throughout, already eyeing the wine stocks and selection. Absently, Thranduil noted how he himself fancied a sour wine whilst his son preferred the fruitiness of a mulberry wine. In the moment, his fingers twitched for a goblet filled to the brim with the finest of his liquors.

    Adjusting the lavishing crown atop his head, Thranduil sighed into his seat. Perhaps he would join the festivities this year? He was certainly dressed for the occasion, perhaps more so than the attendants would be. He wore his heavy embroidered shawl to accentuate the silken crimson and gold trimmed robes spilling from his lithe frame. The mask tied carefully hiding his features sat decorated with the red and gold leaves marking of the beginning of autumn. 

     “Will you join the festivities tonight, my Lord?” Galion stood before the king, snapping him out of his musings. Thranduil stared down at his servant with a burning gaze, eyes reminiscent of a frozen ocean. 

     “Perhaps.” He turned his attention back towards the great hall, doors still trickling with elves of every class. 

     “It is a good thing. You mustn’t be so persistently dreary.” Galion smiled slightly, bowing his head forward, pleased with the king’s response. Thranduil furrowed his brows at the comment, but said no more on the subject. Rather, he watched his people mingle and begin the night in fancy. Elleth in pompous gowns and woven masks, and ellon donned in fine robes and crowns - truly a sight of beauty. The epitome of the elven race's ethereal grace. Thranduil sighed, almost bored with the sight. 

     A wisp of fine golden hair and striking sapphire eyes caught the king's sight amongst the crowd of elves. 

     Following the elf with his eyes, Thranduil furrowed his brows. Standing from his great throne, he shed the great shawl from upon his shoulders. It would be a hinderance if he planned to catch the fair elf. His thought she were occupied solely by those bright eyes and silk-woven. He seemed drawn to him, tied by some invisible force. Guiding himself, he descended the wooden steps toward the great hall where his people began prepare the customary first dance. He brushed past his servant a stern expression, making set to find the elf with the pale hair much like his own. 

     "Sire?" Galion stood before the throne still, left by the king in a fierce suddenness. Shaking his head at the odd behavior, he smiled slightly. Perhaps Mirkwood's king would finally find a pleasure in life and enjoy the celebration and dorwinion. 

     Amidst the throng of masked _Edhelrim_ , it was nearly impossible to search for a single elf. A pair of soft hands grabbed his own as the first song began in a graceful tune of harp and flute, pulling him away from his goal. Thranduil huffed inwardly, yet donned a charming smile. The night had just begun, he would find the elf in time with patience. 

     "My Lady." He took the elleth's gloved hands. Her dark hair pooled over her breasts, amber eyes glittering. Thranduil was not interested. He danced with her a moment, before swiftly switching partners with another.

*~*~*

     Nursing a glass of sweet wine nervously, Legolas let his gaze wander upon the crowd of dancing elves. Isn't this what he had come for? For merriment? His mind told him to return to the confines of his chambers where he belonged, yet his determination and curiosity pleaded him to stay. _His father wouldn't leave the throne, he was safe behind his mask._ It was his mantra, the only thing keeping his feet planted. 

     Legolas downed his wine in a hearty swallow. Setting his goblet down, a hand rested upon his shoulder. He turned his head to the source with the quickness and guard of a warrior. The ellon was tall. Not as tall as his father, yet still more so than he. Striking emerald eyes behind a mask of blue, and pale auburn hair underneath a crown of twigs. Nearly as regal as their own King, in his own way. Though the notion was far from the truth, as none could compare to beauty and grace of his father, the embodiment of the forest. 

     "My dearest _mîr_ , I seem blessed this night with your beauty." The ellon smelling heavily of rich wine cooed into his ear. Legolas tensed at the words, but smiled politely. Although he himself drunk a few glasses of light wine, he was nowhere near as inebriated as this elf before him. The night had hardly begun, but it was still enough that the stars shined from above in a subtle brilliance. While he hadn’t had much to drink, it was enough to toss away his nervousness and to persuade his mind into following the other straight into the growing crowd. He allowed himself to be led along lightly, Elves already trading partners in haste. 

     "Would you care for a dance, _mîr-nín?_ " The ellon asked, already reaching for Legolas' hands. The prince nodded with a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips. No, no one would recognize him this night. He would enjoy his time, just the one night, while it lasted. 

-

     “You dance as if you ride along the wind - you are very nimble, _mîr-nín._ ” The older elf whom Legolas hadn’t caught the name for hummed, brushing a strand of hair from his face with a sweep of his fingers. Legolas swallowed thickly with the sudden urge to jolt from the ellon and hide behind the gnarled throne like he had done in his younger years. Instead, he gave an apologetic smile before turning swiftly with the rhythm, and grappled for any other being. Legolas sighed heavily in relief of being away from the other elf’s intentions. Steadying himself in the warm strong hands that gripped his own, Legolas looked up at his savior for the first time. 

     “You seem relieved to have found your way to me.” His dark voice rumbled smoothly. Legolas faltered in his step, only to be tugged forward by those same warm hands. “And not so steady on your feet, it seems.” He chuckled. Legolas felt the tips of his ears heat. 

     “I apologize, my Lord.” He bowed his head forward for a moment before returning his gaze to that of the taller elf’s. His eyes were like deep, icy depths; cold and consuming. The way the light subtly lit the ellon’s features was mesmerizing and Legolas found it difficult to maintain the pace without stumbling over his own usually graceful feet. 

     “There is no need to apologize, it is my honor to share this time with you. Do you bear a name, _Penneth?_ ” The undoubtedly noble elf spun swiftly as the next rotation of elves began, before interlocking fingers once again. Legolas furrowed his brows for a mere moment. He had not considered a name, and he simply couldn’t tell this stranger he was truly the prince of Mirkwood. 

     “I am afraid I must remain nameless this night, Sire.” Legolas shook his head, the ribbon of his mask swaying behind his braids. The ellon seemed to ponder this for a moment. 

     “Very well,” he nodded “but in exchange I must say the same. This shall be a true night of anonymity.” He bowed his head forward, silvery hair falling over his shoulders like a curtain of silver. Legolas resisted the urge to twine it between his fingers.

     The music slowed to exchange musicians, and many elves broke from their partners to rest. Legolas’ shoulders slumped in disappointment. Truly, he did not wish to leave the company of the elf before him. It seemed his thoughts were shared however, as the other hesitated in detaching his hands. 

     “Would you join me for some wine, _Penneth?_ ” The ellon smiled sincerely. Legolas’ stomach twisted into a wonderful knot as he nodded with a grateful smile. 

*~*~*

     The elf with strikingly familiar sapphire eyes liked sweet, fruity wine he soon discovered. As he watched him drink from above his own goblet, Thranduil absently wondered what the wine would taste like from his lips. The thought was crushed upon the donning realization that his son - Legolas, liked the same. Thranduil furrowed his brows at his own implications. 

     “Thank you for accompanying me, Sire.” The elf spoke boldly now, the first true signs of the wine’s affect, his lips slickened with the liquor. Thranduil resisted the urge to sweep him away right then to ravish. But there was something else about him, some strange similarities. It was nothing.

     “It is my pleasure.” Thranduil bowed. “There is none other I would rather seek this night.” The words were sweet on the ellon’s ears, he knew, but they couldn’t be truer. A faint blush crept onto the ellon's pale cheeks, barely noticeable in the light of the stars and warm glow of candlelight. The elf turned to retrieve another glass, the silver clasp in his golden hair glittering in the starlight. No, not silver. _Mithril._ Thranduil nearly choked on his drink. 

      "My Lord, I must admit I had not expected to spend in such fine company." The elf - no, _Legolas_ spoke with a glimmer in his eye. Thranduil studied his son carefully. How could he not recognize him? The signs were all there. Legolas was far too young to attend such a celebration, to even consider such a thing - and to welcome such flirtatious company! He resolved to keep his son from discovering who he had been so taken with, if only to maintain his own dignity. Thranduil had every intent to carry the masked ellon into his bedchambers when he first laid eyes on him, who knew what any other vile elf had even considered.

     Downing a few glasses more of the dark wine to ease his own thoughts, Thranduil noted how the Legolas was taking his drink. A few to many, perhaps, at the very least he wouldn't insist on another dance this way. Thranduil leaned casually against a wall, simultaneously creating a safe distance between him and his son. He was utterly disturbed with himself at his own fleeting thoughts. 

Legolas appeared close in front of him, a faint red glow present on his cheeks. A shy smile crept onto his lips, a telltale sign of absolutely nothing good. 

"Is there something you wish?" Thranduil feigned indifference, despite his inner raging war. Every thought disappeared when his son raised a hand to cup his cheek gently. He traced a finger down his jawline, curving up at his chin to stroke his bottom lip. Thranduil couldn't breathe. He should tell him, but words refused to part him. 

      "Forgive me, Sire, for I must part this night." Legolas spoke softly, alluringly, with hooded eyes. Thranduil's body moved against his will, his hand resting upon his son's cheek in an instant - a scorching touch. Rubbing his thumb in circles on the warmed skin, he gazed into Legolas' deep sapphire eyes from behind the exquisite mask truly for the first time. His son stood on his toes, tipping his head up until their noses were nearly touching. 

      "I will return to you on the morrow, my Lord." Legolas spoke just inches from the king's lips. With one swift motion of boldness from the lingering wine, he connected their lips wit a light press. Thranduil stilled for a moment, his son's lips warm against his own, before giving in to the vile temptation. It was like fire and ice, and absolutely melting. He had been right in his assumption, the fruit wine tasted so much better from the mouth of the young ellon he had spent much of his night with. The Elvenking seemed to lose himself, returning his son's kiss with a hot vigor of his own. He absently ran his fingers through the long blonde tresses he would surely feel again, tugging at the braids slightly. 

     A hand pressed firmly against his chest, parting their lips. The younger elf seemed as though he may faint, ragged breath shuddering from behind sinfully reddened lips. He touched Thranduil’s hand again with a saddened look, before nodding. 

     “I will return.” He called softly before darting down the long steps and through the throng of elves. Thranduil sunk back against the wall for support, feeling faint himself. What had he done?

     A mithril clasp decorated as leaves bounced on the floor and lay to be claimed. Thranduil picked up the decoration with shaking fingers. 

     “I'm so sorry." He clutched the silvery leaf tightly against his palm. 

 

_Elleth - Female Elf_  
_Ellon - Male Elf_  
_Penneth - Young One_  
_Edhelrim - Elves_  
_Mîr/Mîr-nín - Jewel/My Jewel_


	2. Second Night

          Tearing the embroidered mask free, Legolas slumped against the door of his chambers as it clicked shut. He could still hear the song and merriment below through the deafening beat of his heart. The party would likely follow through the night until there were elves falling asleep in the arms of their dance partners, or underneath the wine barrels. Each night was to be more hectic than the last, or so he'd been told. His initial plan had been to stay until midnight for just the first night before he'd gone and promised the ellon with familiar liquid silver for hair that he would return. Promised right after kissing his tempting lips senseless. While it was completely undignified to act like a maid on her fiftieth begetting day, he couldn't find regret in what he'd done. 

     Legolas brushed his fingers over his still-reddened lips. No, he couldn't regret that. Pushing himself from the door, Legolas nodded to himself in resolve. He would return to the ellon and perhaps even discover who was under the mask. Truly there had been a connection even before the kiss, the other elf must have felt it, right? He seemed almost familiar to him. He undid his robes with upturned lips. The very next night the prince would see his suitor...

~*~*~

     Thranduil found himself stalking up the palace steps, leaving the celebration behind him. What was there to celebrate anymore? He knew and yet he didn't do a thing to stop it. The Mithril clasp in his hand was clutched so tightly that it would leave bruises and break skin, though it was the only thing keeping him from losing his temper as well. He'd tempted his own son! What had he done to have angered the Valar to deserve such a fate? He shed the grand decorations for the servants to retrieve in the halls, until he was left with nothing but his breeches. The fabric felt constricting and dirtied against his skin. 

      He was a controlled storm as he passed through the royal wing. His anger bubbled, and then subsided when he reached his son's chambers to pass. He paused, listening to his son's light humming from behind the walls. His son, the very being he was meant to protect and the one that he had betrayed. Lifting his fist before he could process the action properly, Thranduil knocked on the carven door. It opened, and he was greeted by Legolas who jumped back slightly with a start at the imposing presence of his father. 

      " _Adar?_ " Legolas asked, cocking his head to the side. He was dressed for bed in a night shirt and breeches with freshly unbraided hair. He clearly hadn't been expecting to see his father retired so early from the party. Thranduil sputtered for a moment with a sudden acute awareness of his own state. 

      "I - I've come to check on you, _iôn-nín_. I was told you were feeling unwell by one of the servant maids." He ground out the blatant lie as well as he was able. It wasn't as if he could say that he wished to check up on his son because he had nearly completely ravished him. Or because he was unsure how to remedy the situation. 

      "Have they? I am fine, _Adar,_ I do not know why they have said that." Legolas blinked up at his father, furrowing his dark brows. 

      "If you are are fine, then I will retire to my own chambers. Goodnight, _Penneth._ " Thranduil folded his hands behind his back before nodding.

      "Y-yes, _Adar_. Goodnight." Legolas pressed his lips into a firm line. Thranduil turned to leave, before he paused. 

      “Oh, and Legolas?” He retained his commanding tone. Legolas peered up with questioning eyes. 

      “Yes, _Adar?_ ”

      “I found this in the Great Hall. Do not be so clumsy with it.” Thranduil extended his hand, producing the Mithril clasp with clenched teeth. Legolas paled before him, taking it with deliberate slowness and trembling fingers. With that, Thranduil turned fully and stalked down the corridor to his own bedchambers. By the look Legolas had taken when he’d seen the clasp, it had been evident he knew exactly when he’d dropped it. Thranduil just hoped it was enough to convince him not to return.

~*~*~

      The very next night Legolas found himself in a predicament. Donning fresh blue robes with the mask he’d worn the night before, he stood in a very similar spot by the dorwinion barrels. It was against all odds as his father seemed to know his every step, but he had to try. He’d promised his word to the masked ellon of his return, and the prince remained true to it. He’d abandoned the Mithril clasps on his vanity, and left his hair unbraided for the ellon with the sour wine lips. How he planned to find him again was beyond himself. With a deep intake of breath, Legolas maneuvered himself into the steadily growing crowd in the center of the extravagantly decorated Grand Hall. 

      The dance had already begun some hours before, and was still bustling with joy. A few of the riskier and more wine-drowned of the elves had snuck to nearby crevices and corridors with their sweethearts. On a lookout for his own, Legolas barely noted how he was passed along like a puppet once he reached the growing throng of dancers. Hands here and there, his head spun. As did he, as a certain pair of gloved hands reached out to catch the dizzied prince. Legolas gripped forward gratefully, steadying himself. 

      “We meet again much the same, _Penneth._ ” The ellon in his dreams smiled down amusedly at the prince. He smiled, but it looked pained. Legolas’ head throbbed too much to take notice. 

      “May we get some drink, Lord? I am woozy from the dance.” Legolas breathed, glad to be still from the party. The ellon touched Legolas’ forehead with light fingers. The act vanished and was replaced by true concern. He nodded, and guided them gently to the wine barrels. The ellon poured a goblet of sweet fragrant wine to hand to Legolas. While he did so, Legolas admired the deep violet silken robes that cascaded from the ellon’s form regally. 

      “You have returned to me, _Penneth._ Why is that?” He asked as he poured himself something darker and richer. 

      “I promised my return, did I not?” Legolas raised a brow before taking a hearty drink from his goblet. 

      “You did, and you have, which is what I fear so.” He murmured, almost to himself. 

      “Sire?”

~*~*~ 

     “It is nothing, Penneth.” Thranduil waved his son off at his own conflictions. Legolas had appeared despite Thranduil’s efforts. He could not simply ignore his son and ascend his throne as he would have, as any other unworthy elf could attract Legolas’ easy eye and deflower his perfect greenleaf. More so than he himself had already done. His plan had been to simply watch over his son and occupy the time with conversation and dance until the night was over enough to send away. His plans were all but shattered as Legolas peered up at him with soft blue eyes clouded by a clear desire and longing. His son had always been a hopeless romantic, and it would not be put past him to think of love in the first being he shared such a contact with. Damn his dignity, he had to tell him _now._

      “It is nothing. Come, I must speak with you in private. Let us slip away from prying ears, _Penneth._ ” It was a command that Legolas followed in silent questioning. Thranduil led him away into a familiar corridor reserved for those residing in the palace. It was dark, and empty. Thranduil leaned himself against a wall for support, and released a deep shuddering breath. Legolas took on a look of concern behind his mask, and raised a hand to caress his father’s cheek in comfort. 

      “What is the matter?” He pleaded silently, barely above a whisper. The words echoed regardless. 

      “I cannot - you cannot…” Thranduil swallowed thickly. He breathed, attempting to regain his composure before continuing. “This cannot be. We are not to be one. Please understand, Penneth.” 

      Legolas was directly in front of him, and he raised his own hand to cover the one resting upon his cheek. 

      “My Lord, this cannot be true. Why must you say this? You sought me out as I did you.” Legolas inched forward with watery eyes. Thranduil’s skin prickled at the thought of hurting his son, but it was what must have been done to avoid anything rasher. “I do not know your name nor your face, yet what I feel for you is what I have never felt before. It is as though I have always known you.” Legolas stared into his eyes, his soul. His pupils were wide with want and his voice laced with sincerity. 

      Thranduil could barely speak as his son pressed their lips together in a dying request for the second time. Legolas moved with slow deliberation, while Thranduil’s entire resolve and control crumbled away. He reached a hand to push his son away, but wound up gripping tighter and pulling him closer until their bodies were flush. In the back of his mind, Thranduil protested how happily and inviting he opened his mouth for his son, his little greenleaf. 

      His eyes snapped open once he felt the hand on his cheek lift up under his mask, tossing the delicate item aside. Thranduil felt the body against his own tense in realization, but he did not pull away. 

      “ _A-ada?_ ” Legolas stuttered with a breathy voice. Thranduil was unsure if it was from the shock or the kissing. Still, he remained against his father’s chest, both with widened eyes. Thranduil steeled himself for the reject and disgust. It did not come. “So it really was you, Ada?” Legolas’ voice was almost too quiet to hear over the sound of his own beating heart. 

      “What did you say, Legolas?”

      “You… you returned my clasp, and your… _Ada_ , I suspected but I never…” Legolas voiced in wonder and shock. Thranduil was nearly in hysterics. 

      “I am your father, and I have ruined you! You will obey me, Legolas. We cannot continue this madness.” Thranduil bit the words out, fueled by his son’s apparent nonchalance.

      " _Ad_ \- my Lord, I-" Legolas stuttered, cheeks flushed pink underneath his mask of leaves. Thranduil’s anger melted under the nerves of his son. It was rare that he lost any sort of temper with his greenleaf. 

      "Legolas, hush. Do not say it..." Thranduil's lips ghosted over his own, pale fingers running through Legolas' silken hair. He breathed unsteadily, his usual calculated movements slow and shaking. "Believe this and we will move on: You are a young noble elf that has attended this celebration with no intent to dance with the king. Yet you have managed as much, capturing his as well as many other wandering eyes." He murmured to convince himself as well as his son. 

      "Yes, my King." Legolas whispered against his father's lips. Closing his eyes, he let out a shuddering breath. He understood the intent of the words well enough. Thranduil slipped his own eyelids shut to the illusion, nodding.

      "Yes, and your vile King has led you astray. Within the corridors of his halls. You should make your leave." He stilled at his own words, waiting for the sound of Legolas' boots as he left. Eyes snapping open, Legolas stared at his father - no, his King. He seemed vulnerable, dark lashes fanning over his pale cheeks and shaking with every breath. His intricate mask and crown had hidden his features well before, yet it was hard to mistake who he was now. So close. Legolas placed a palm against the Elvenking's chest, gripping at the robe. Twisting the silken fabric in his hand, he pulled forward and connected their lips in another soft kiss. Thranduil's eyelids fluttered open with a start.

      "My king is no vile ellon." Legolas murmured. This seemed to spark something within Thranduil, as he captured the other's rosy lips in his own once more completely losing his grip on control. Legolas whimpered in surprise before relaxing into his King's touch. Humming appreciatively into those velvety lips, Legolas absently questioned the morality of this turmoil. All of those thoughts fleeted once Thranduil's tongue found its way into his own mouth, running along his teeth and tongue in a mess of desire. He kissed back hungrily, grappling for support on his king's broad shoulders. Thranduil stilled once Legolas made attempts to deepen the kiss. Pulling away startled with sudden disgust, Thranduil clasped a hand over his own mouth. 

      "I fear he must be, _Penneth._ Terribly, terribly vile." Thranduil barely whispered, disgust with himself clear on his visible features. His eyes were clouded with hunger and guilt as he pushed away further. Stepping from his son’s reach, Thranduil shook his head before darting from the hall in with a flourish of his robe. 

      Legolas was left in the corridor alone and confused with naught but his father's mask. 

 

_Ellon - Male Elf_  
_Adar - Father (formal)_  
_Ada - Father (informal)_  
_iôn-nín - My Son_  
_Penneth - Young One_


	3. Third Night

    

    

        One night had he promised himself. Two nights had been a whim, and three nights was an act of deliberate madness. The air was thick with the last of the flowing wine, the atmosphere less of an elegance and more a heady end to the three-night masquerade. Legolas gripped his own mask in one hand, and his father’s in the other. Drawing in a deep breath, he allowed the intoxicating air to seep into his very being. One final night lay ahead. With darting azure eyes, he searched for his father’s cascading champagne tresses amongst the ever-growing crowd of inebriated elves. None matched the King’s regal posture or presence, and a gnawing sensation crept at the back of Legolas’ mind. Turning on his heel quickly to search about the front of the throne, a hand caught his shoulder. With a sharp intake of breath, his very first thought was that the King had sought him out first. As it were, that was not the case. 

     “My Lord Legolas? What has brought you here? This is no place for… No matter. Have you seen your father?” Galion, the King’s personal servant, fumbled. With a swift tug of the shoulder, he drew Legolas aside. He spoke in a low tone, as if any other was sober enough to eavesdrop. His expression was one of concern, edging panicked. Legolas stopped. 

     “My father? What of my father? I, too, search for him.” He furrowed his brows, clutching the masks tighter in his fists. 

     “You seek your father? You must know he would be here, and it is certainly not a place for a prince, especially at this hour when the celebrations begin to become the most animated. I fear when he bade farewell the first night that he has not been right since. The King has lost himself, and I have lost the King, my prince. I must find him afore the ceremonies’ end.” Galion bowed his head forward, exasperated. 

     “And he is not to be found in his rooms?” 

     “Nay, Lord, it is why I search here. There is word he may have stolen away with a pretty blonde elf after all these years. I would be most pleased with the outcome, but by the Valar, wait until the end of the ceremony to charm a maiden to his chambers! I must go. If you see him, send him back to the throne. I do not even wish to discuss the implications of your presence, my prince.” With a sharp glance to both of the masks, Galion turned and left with a quick step and avoidance of swaying dancers. 

     Worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, Legolas breathed in deeply once more for courage. There was yet one more place the Elvenking could have strayed to. 

     ~*~*~

     Nothing could penetrate the thick lulling air of peace that washed over the spring and surrounding wood. While the Silvan Elves were more in tune with all that was nature and therefore all green and from the forest, Thranduil had always been drawn in by beauty. And beauty radiated from the flowing rocks like a silver song that reminded him so of his own childhood. From the purest and finest gem to the simplest pure body of water - and to his own delicate heir. Yes, Mirkwood’s King appreciated and desired beauty of all forms. 

     There he stood, dressed for the third night of the celebration he had not yet attended. Thranduil was not dull enough to imagine his beloved son would follow his orders and forget the prior nights. Fear, he had inherited his own stubbornness. It was apparent that Legolas would return and seek him out, but he could not face him. Not there. So he waited in the serenity of the spring with patience for his son’s arrival that he prayed would never come. He faced the cool waters with a stoic expression, jeweled fingers folded behind his back and resting against his silken sangria robes. 

     “Legolas. Return to your chambers at once.” Thranduil ordered as he would his soldiers, and it pained him to do so. Yet he felt the looming presence of his son from the shade. Legolas made his way with catlike grace, but said nothing. Just feet behind, and yet Thranduil hadn't turned to face him. 

     “Do you defy me, _iôn-nín?_ I said-!” Thranduil’s voice rose and faltered as he turned with a swift motion, robe pooling in a swirl at his feet. Legolas stood with a stricken smile, palm outstretched extending the mask he had worn and shed away just the night before. 

     “My Lord, please, I would be with you. I am not your son if you wish it. Don your mask once more and we shall not be ourselves, the moon as our witness.” Legolas held his own elaborately decorated mask close, as if to tie it. He waited, hesitantly. Thranduil stared at his son, his expression sobering. Oh, what had he done to his poor child? Standing in the moonlight before his own father, Legolas seemed wilted and hopeful. Truly, he looked exquisite as he always would. Draped in deep violet robes with blonde locks braided similarly to how it had been the first night, Thranduil found his breath had been stolen by his very creation. 

     “My son, you compare not to the moon nor stars. Do you recall this place? We used to come here when you were an elfling.” Thranduil paused to search his son’s eyes, which had filled undoubtedly with relief and adoration.

     “Yes, _Ada_ , with mother. I fear I do not recall her image.” Legolas breathed. 

     “You are much like her. You have her eyes and affinity for love. I fear you have placed your love brashly but I do not have the will to refuse you, my child." Thranduil stepped forward and placed a pale hand upon his son's shoulder. With his other hand, he carefully pried the mask from Legolas' trembling fingers and tossed it to the solid earth. 

     "I am no child, _Ada_. What is it you are suggesting...?" 

     "That may be so, but you are _my_ child. You must understand that this is vile, _iôn_. I confess that I was aware of your identity the very first night and did nothing to rebuke your actions. I will pay for my own repulsive reaction, and yet you insist on angering the Valar as well as I have. Why is that?" Thranduil moved his hands to his son's cheeks, cupping his jaw gently between his palms. Legolas gaped at his father, eyes filled with pure admiration and love. 

     " _Ada..._ it is strange to think on it, but I am glad it was you behind the mask. I have never felt so strongly before, and I would bond with you if you wished it." Legolas leaned into his father's caress as he made his declaration with hooded lids. Thranduil nearly dropped his hands in shock at his son's words, but rather brought him closer with a warm smile gracing his lips. 

     "My leaf, you are to be no other. You are my love, _meleth-nín_." He placed a kiss over a now closed lid. "My prince, _caun-nín_." And to the other lid. "As well as my son, _iôn-nín_." He pressed the last chaste kiss upon his son's lips, feeling the skin warm beneath his fingers. Thranduil pulled away with amusement as he watched his son's wide eyes fill with glistening wonder. 

     "Thank you, _Ada_. You are my everything, I do not fear the gods before you." Legolas breathed out, still struck. He blinked away the settled haze, and retrieved his father's mask from the dirt. "Come, Ada. Let us finish the ceremony. You have been missed." Smiling, Legolas pressed the embroidered mask of leaves and blooming flowers into his father's palm and led him from the springs in the other. 

     ~*~*~

     "My Lords! Thank the Valar for your return, you are just in time." Galion expressed his relief with a grateful smile. "Will you not be returning to your chambers, Prince Legolas?" He turned to Mirkwood's prince who clung to his father's robes like an elfling, a smile stretched across his lips. 

     "Nay," Legolas held a cheeky grin as he fastened the too-familiar mask upon his fair features. "It is nearly over, I may as well remain for the finale." 

     Galion furrowed his brows at the prince, and turned instead to the King. Thranduil merely shrugged, tying his own mask. "Prince Legolas will do as he wishes, it is only three years until he is of age. The celebration has come to an end, regardless." The King waved his servant off, ascending the rooted steps to the throne. "Come, _iôn_." He motioned for Legolas to follow with a tilt of his head. The prince obeyed, unceremoniously seating himself next to the king. 

     The crowd seemed to still all at once in their murmur and merriment, looking to the arrival of their king as a sign of the strike of midnight. The musicians signaled, and began their chosen ballad with consent by a nod from the Elvenking. Soothing notes that were slow and melodious bloomed from the mouths of flutes and harps as torches sprang to life by the servants, encircling the hall in firelight. The masked attendants watched the display and swayed on light feet to the tune, and watched the stars above at the signal of autumn. 

     Legolas stared at his father, his own star, his spring, with a drunken smile playing at his lips. The king had donned his masquerade as the music began, his milky flesh hidden by extravagant adornments. Legolas' fingers itched to feel his father's skin beneath his own. He held the urge with pressed lips. Contact with his father in the presence of prying eyes was dangerous, even as he was then was unwise. But they were masked, and amongst a crowd of similarly dressed elves none would know. Legolas would allow his mischief. 

     As the song died, another began. The final song for the final dance - a particularly slow melody for close dancing unlike the fast paced tunes for spinning and switching partners. Legolas grinned, grasping for his father's hand. 

     " _Ada_ , we must dance." He stood, dragging the King to his feet. Thranduil smiled lightly at his child. 

    "Must we? My feet tire from the prior nights with a mysterious blonde ellon." He protested, following his son's excitable lead. 

     "It will be fun, come!" With one hand he dragged his father, and with the other he assured his mask secure. 

     The music began softly, couples grasping for only their partner. Some milled to the last drops of Dorwinion, while the remaining made their leave from the celebration on drunken feet. Few milled bemusedly to see their enamored King be led by a cheeky masked elf to the floor. The King rested a hand upon his partner’s hip and the other in his hand, bodies close. 

     “I must admit, this is much different than when I did not know you. Harder, perhaps.” Legolas laughed lightly, pressing his cheek to his father’s robes. He inhaled his fragrance deeply, like fresh earth and pine. Thranduil chuckled and leaned forward, pressing a kiss atop of his son’s hair as he had done dozens of times when Legolas was just an elfling. The thought shuddered him, yet he couldn’t find himself pulling away. Truly, he had become soft. Or his _fëa_ had entwined too greatly to deny himself, a distressing yet possible notion on its own. He was pulled from his thoughts when his son murmured against the elegant fabric of his robes as they swayed. 

     “Hmm? What was that, _iôn-nín_?” Thranduil lifted his son’s chin upwards between his thumb and forefinger. 

     “I do love you, Ada. I missed you after _Emel_ died.” Legolas sighed into his father’s touch, eyes glistening. Thranduil’s heart pulled, and a heavier guilt than this impurity stabbed at him. 

     “I was foolish to have neglected you. _Gin melathon an-uir, iôn-nín._ ” He brushed a stray strand of flaxen hair from his son’s cheek. Legolas’ expression softened. Raising upon his toes, he kissed his father gingerly. Slowly and calculated, he tasted the Elvenking meticulously. They would have eternity to discover. For the moment they danced to the flow of the music, uncaring and unaffected by the surrounding couples. 

~*~*~

     Galion shook his head as he raised the glass of wine to hip lips. He preferred a rich spiced wine, but the sweet one would suffice. 

 

_Iôn-nín - My Son_  
_Iôn - Son_  
_Ada - Father (informal)_  
_Meleth-nín - My Love_  
_Caun-nín - My Prince_  
_Ellon - Male Elf_  
_Fëa - Soul_  
_Emel - Mother_  
_Gin melathon an-uir, iôn-nín - You hold my heart, My Son_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! This and has been my very first Thrandolas fanfic and the first fic I've put time forward to finish. Feedback is always appreciated!


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